


bodyache

by sonia (aquatulip)



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Dissociation, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatulip/pseuds/sonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the future i saw your ghost again.<br/>it was at the pharmacy this time. <br/>you know i care about you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bodyache

in the future i saw your ghost again.

it was at the pharmacy this time. 

you know i care about you. 

\--

 

incisors digging into flesh, carving small valleys all nestled together; a steady stream runs a path through the valleys and heads downstream and you can’t feel the pain. you’ve stopped feeling pain while waiting you are waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting all you do is wait wait wait wait underneath blinding white lights that reflect off of blinding white walls. instead your veins are packed full of novocaine; the world around you moves in fast forward, but you are stuck within a series of freeze frames. each step you take is a  **_FLASH!_ ** of the camera. every movement feels disjointed, dysfunctional, detached, dissociate dissociate dissociate dissociate dissociate. ( _ knock knock. --who’s home? --not hinata! _ ) you are merely watching your body move: the stretch of muscle over bone as joints  _ creak _ and  _ pop!  _ and you see your hands reaching for the doorknob, but you aren’t aware of who is controlling it. disjointed. dissociate. 

 

when

             you

                       g a i n 

**CONSCIOUSNESS**

                                                                     you

                                                                               are

                                                                                         at

the 

                                                                                                           pharmacy. 

pills prescribed post passing post parting post disjointed departure descending down down down. 

you are vaguely aware that you are dragging your feet disconnected from your mind towards the counter that is so familiar to you. “ _ komaeda nagito _ ,” your mouth moves, but when you register the sound, it isn’t your voice speaking and you are jostled back into your body as your tired eyes stare vacantly at the desk worker and a hint of an awkward smile turns the side of your mouth up. “hinata hajime,” you correct your ghosted words and they depart from you with a pleasant smile, but suspicious eyes that are critical of your capsizing head still watch you. 

out of the corner of your eye there is a minute movement, but you brush it off as a stranger.

“here you go,” they say as their hands skim your shaking ones and you take the bag without looking them in the eye. you turn trembling tripping tumbling fumbling breath hitching flinching back and your eyes are playing games with your mind and you think of plucking them out or pushing them far back into your head but none of that will change this moment.

**he’s** standing  _ right there  _ in front of you.

t a n g i b l e. 

pale eyes lidded with long lashes lapping lazily against sharp cheekbones; a slender frame of long limbs limply hanging and he looks as peaceful as ever. there is no pink in his cheeks and the sun in his eyes has set permanently. the bag you are holding drops to the floor as incisors dig valleys into flesh as you try to stop yourself from shouting shaking shivering scrambling for words to throw at his feet as you kneel before him and and and and and and and and

dissociate disjointed disappearing

“i love you,” you whisper again and again and again and again and you are amazed that you are screaming until your lungs collapse because you’d do anything to return him to you. he catches hold of your gaze and lifts a single finger to his lips to quiet you.  _ no words _ you think you hear him say, but his mouth never opens and you are falling to the floor as your heart stalls in your chest and your hands are trying to grasp, but all you feel is the cold dampness of your tears as they pool beneath you. it is a downpour as your breath hi-hi-hitches in your chest and your frame qu-qu-quakes as you try to hold yourself together. every seam is unfurling uncurling unraveling to reveal the ugly inside of an incapable man who is crying on the floor of his local pharmacy. 

he opens his mouth, but you do not hear the words that tumble from his lips; no longer can you inject his words within your veins and feel the high that they provide. there is no holiness in the lines of his shoulders or the pout of his mouth yet you are on your knees in reverence. when he moves, there is a chill in the air that swallows you whole until you are merely walking through a tundra and he is standing there on the other side. miles upon miles upon miles upon miles separate you until you can no longer feel the  _ ghost  _ of his warm breath on your neck. all the words that you wish to say, get stuck to the insides of his mouth too and he is swallowing them like the pills that you swallow every night before bed. there is a dryness in your mouth and all the water in the world washing over you could not cleanse you. not now. 

when

            you

                        g a i n 

**CONSCIOUSNESS**

                                                                         you

                                                                                   are

                                                                                           in

an

                                                                                                          ambulance.

“it’ll be okay,” the medic whispers and their words stretch until they are thin breakable, tangible lines that decay decompose deteriorate degenerate die die die die die. you are dying, you think, but you can’t really tell among the smell of antiseptics that make your nose burn with each inhale. 

quizzically questioning a queasy, patient patient, but you don’t hear any words fully: they all feel heavy and weigh down on your quaking bones until you feel them shatter.  _ sticks and stones may break my bones, but words cause them to s h a t t e r.  _ your head is filled with cotton that is as heavy as lead. if someone dropped you into the ocean, you’d find yourself sinking forevermore. 

“i’m fine,” you tell the medic that has been hovering over your shaking shivering shuddering form as you twist and turn on the gurney in a manic struggle to get yourself away from any restraints restraining you. “i’m fine,” you repeat indefinitely as you remember the  _ ghost  _ of his love when you would hold him through the night as he twisted and turned while his hands gripped at the bedsheets with whitened knuckles that were so desperate for some release. he would quake, quiver, quit breathing before he released the bedsheets; they were a type of anchor for him that held him in place. on this gurney, you can’t find any holding: there is no promise. 

there is no anchor that says there will be something to wake up to tomorrow.

_ grief _ . good grief, grief-stricken, in grief.  
        in despair, in despair, in despair, in despair.

no one stops the ambulance; it keeps driving until it is breaking down the walls of hospital and you have somehow found your way into a hospital bed that is frozen over. your glad he doesn’t haunt this place; there had always been too much sorrow in his eyes when you would drive him here, even for a simple flu shot. you wouldn’t want to catch those sad, lonely eyes here even if they would unfreeze the coldness of the room. 

he takes your breath right from you without even being in the room.

and you know you know you know you know you know you’ve heard it all before.  _ this will pass _ and  _ take your medication _ , but the episodes of dissociation play so closely together until you aren’t sure if you have a reality anymore and you aren’t sure if you ever had a reality.  _ maybe he’s always been a ghost _ . there are not many memories in your mending, medicine-clogged mind. the therapist tells you that you could get better and the doctor promises a long life, but you grasp tight to this feeling of the unknown: the same one that he had to cling to in order to try to live. there is no promise that you will get better after this, but everyone has such high hopes for you. you know that his are the highest, but when you lift your hand to your mouth, you can’t tell if there are pills in your hand or if they are emptied. 

you are trying trying trying trying trying trying to get better. you tell yourself and him and him and him and her and them and everyone and you could yell the words to everyone, but no one would listen to you and you’d be shouting shrieking screaming shrilly to a void that swallows your words: you’d be shouting your words into his mouth and he’d be gulping them down like pills until all of them are digested and broken down. 

you exhale.  
take the pills.

when you gain CONSCIOUSNESS you are allowed to leave.

with shaky steps, you sign your papers and you take your pills and you aren’t  _ fixed _ , but you have thawed yourself out and it is time for your departure from the soulless world of sad, lonely eyes. as nanami drives you home, you peer out the window and watch the fleeting sight of the pharmacy, but you don’t see him, so you lower your gaze and lean your forehead against the window as the car shakes as you do as you head towards your home.

\--

_ cared  _ about you.


End file.
